John Ringo - There Will Be Dragons

“Fire!”

It was just a bit like feeding the bow. Herzer had assumed that he would be able to ace the timed fire but in short order he realized just what an incredible workout it was. He was drawing on a fifty-kilo bow so each draw was the equivalent of using his back and shoulder muscles to lift fifty kilos. It was brutal work and he was quickly sweating profusely. He had fired fifteen arrows on the first minute but only nine on the second and he felt himself falling progressively further and further behind. Digging deep down inside he let himself drift, searching for the “zone” and picked up the pace despite the fire that seemed to spread through his back with each additional draw. For that matter, the leather bracer was not enough and each additional slap against his forearm was spreading waves of pain up his arm. He was going to have one hell of a bruise when he was done.

“Last minute!” Malcolm called.

“Twenty, sir!” Trenton said.

Herzer was not about to fail at this point. Forgotten was any interest in line infantry, he was simply not going to fail . “FEED ME!”

From somewhere he got a second wind and began slamming arrow after arrow downrange. He forgot to even try to hit the target and just concentrated on getting them all over the range line. It was getting nearly impossible to do a full draw but he slammed one after another out nonetheless until Malcolm called “TIME!”

Herzer lowered the bow to rest on the ground and stood, breathing deeply, grimacing at the pain in his arm.

“You went two over, sir, sorry,” Trenton said, taking the bow from him and getting a dipper of water.

“Well, one went short,” Malcolm said, walking up to their station to survey the result with a grimace.

“So I passed,” Herzer chuckled.

“Yeah,” Malcolm said with another grimace. “You’re the only one who passed. I told Edmund the test was too tough.”

“And you were right,” Talbot said, appearing behind them as if he had apported. “I thought you were going for line infantry, Herzer?”

“I was told I had to take the test, sir,” Herzer replied.

“And you’re the only one that passed,” Edmund frowned. “How did the others do?”

Malcolm thought about it for a moment with a frown then shrugged. “The average is about thirty in ten minutes, taking Herzer out of the group.”

“That’s still better than crossbow,” Edmund considered. “But not much.”

“Their wind is awful,” Malcolm commented. “I think they might be able to make archers, some day, but it will be a hell of a lot of work.”

“Did all of them make at least thirty?” Talbot asked.

“All but one,” Malcolm admitted.

“Drop the requirement to thirty and continue the testing,” Edmund said. “And you’re going to have to drive them.”

“I will. What about Herzer?”

“I should make him one of your assistants,” Talbot said, looking the still sweating boy up and down. “But I think we’ll go ahead and pass him on to the next testing station.”

After the archery test they were served a light lunch and ate it sitting on the ground. Herzer quickly downed the strips of salty pork, which were served on flat-bread, and chewed manfully on some large crackers that were just about as hard as rocks. It seemed that all of the testing groups had been gathered together and he looked around at the figures, wondering what would come next.

After lunch his group was approached by a young man, probably a few years older than he and Deann but it was hard to tell. He was inordinately tall, taller than Herzer, which was unusual, and muscular with legs that looked like tree trunks. The man was wearing a heavy, open-faced helmet, articulated body armor, a metal-plated leather kilt, greaves and heavy leather boots. He looked at the group and waved them to their feet.

“My name is Sergeant Greg Donahue,” the man said. “You will address me as Sergeant Donahue. I do not respond to ‘Hey, you’ or ‘Sarge.’ I hope you’re all fed and watered, because we’ve got a bit of work to do. Follow me.”

He led them across the area, behind where more groups were preparing for the archery test, then westward towards the hills flanking the valley until he reached the base of a high hill that had to be near the river. On the ground were a large number of leather rucksacks arranged in a formation. On the side towards the hill was another sack, standing all alone. The young man walked to that sack and turned towards them.

“Everyone take a position by one of the sacks,” he said, standing by his own sack with his feet spread and his hands locked behind his back. He waited until they were in position and cleared his throat.

“This town is called Raven’s Mill. But since ravens are not native to this area, that begs the question: Why? Once upon a time a man lived in this area who was attempting to develop talking ravens, ones with nearly full human intelligence. In time he tired of the quest and released his ravens into the wild. Most of them died but a few of the hardier specimens survived. They tended to congregate around this hill and it, in time, was called Raven’s Hill. Edmund Talbot, when he moved here, knew of the story and named the area for the ravens who had by that time died out completely.

“However, Master Edmund liked this hill for the same reason the ravens did, from the top of it you can see for miles. As such, for exercise, he had constructed a set of steps up the hill. Four hundred and twenty-three steps, to be precise. On the up side. There are three hundred and seventy-four on the down, which takes a slightly different path.” He paused and nodded at someone behind the group.

Herzer turned involuntarily and saw the man who had been at the initial entry processing. He was easier to examine now and Herzer realized he must be about the same age as Edmund Talbot. He was tall and lean with gray, cold eyes and wearing the same outfit as Sergeant Donahue.

Herzer snapped his head around as the man snarled: “EYES FRONT!”

Sergeant Donahue nodded and continued. “We will be testing your ability to do the single most important function of the infantryman: Walking. You have been tested for adequate upper body strength and later we’ll find out if you have the single-minded aggressiveness to be functional line infantry. And if you don’t, we’ll either weed you out or teach it to you. But for now, we have to know if you can keep up. If you can ‘hang.’ ” He nodded grimly at the faces as the test sank in. “So now if you’ll pick up the rucksacks and put them on your back, we can begin. Make sure they’re comfortable. I will set the pace. Anyone who falls behind Gunnery Sergeant Rutherford is disqualified.”

Herzer hoisted the ruck and settled it on his back, adjusting the leather straps as best he could. They had buckles but it was a pain to adjust them while they were on, so he unshipped his, changed the settings and then put it back on. It was heavy as hell, probably sixty to eighty kilos. He looked up the hill and suddenly regretted even the skimpy meal they had been given.

Donahue nodded as the last pack was settled and then walked among the group checking their fit. He adjusted one or two, then walked back to his place.

“We’ll start on the flats so that everyone can become accustomed to the weight and then we’ll see if you can handle the Hill.”

He settled them in a double file and marched them back towards the main encampment, keeping to some of the better leveled roads. They marched almost down to the creek that ran through the center of the encampment and then turned to a trail along the base of the northern hills. This led in a curve back to just before their starting point and Herzer got the first look at the steps. They appeared to go straight up.